


not where it matters

by secretly_a_savior



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: In which Hamilton is lowkey the corps bicycle, M/M, alexander hamilton gets #wrekt, hamilton is smol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretly_a_savior/pseuds/secretly_a_savior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over drinks, Lafayette mentions Alexander's stature.</p><p>a.k.a the comedy central roast of Alexander Hamilton</p>
            </blockquote>





	not where it matters

**Author's Note:**

> lol i'm fuckin' trash. This is short, but slutty a. ham is where it's at.  
> accepting of slutty a. ham friends is also where it's at.
> 
> no judgement this is my first work in this fandom kthx
> 
> COMMENTS VALIDATE MY EXISTANCE

                It had been a long night, and one Alexander Hamilton was having trouble unwinding- he’d enlisted the help of his friends, but he wasn’t exactly sure they were _helping._ They’d been teasing him for the past half-hour, and with each word, he became more bemused (much to the amusements of the men around him.)

“You’d fit right in in France.” The Marquis drawled, his thick accent curling around the words, his nimble fingers running along the rim of his half-empty glass. Alexander cocked his head and bit the inside of his lip.  
                
  “How so?” he asked, glancing around at his comrades. They were sitting in all manners of dress on the dewy grass in an ill-lit battlefield tent, drinks sat out in front of them. Practice musket fire and drunk bickering among other soldiers outside the tent set the tone for the evening, but of course Hamilton and his comrades were able to make light of things. Laurens held his tongue, looking to Lafayette for a response.

                “C’est simple.” Lafayette mused, pulling a hand through his long hair. “Your temper is just as short as you are.” He said, basking in the rapturous laughter of his compatriots. Alexander’s face became red as a beet, and he stood, careful not to kick anyone’s drink over. He knew he was short- compared to his friends anyway. He would probably be as tall as them had he not fallen so ill during his formative years.

                “I’m not short.” He replied, angry eyes scanning the tent, dirty uniform pieces and empty glasses littered the tent and Hercules and John were laughing- near doubled over- as the Marquis just sat, an unapologetic shrug settling on his shoulders. He crossed his arms and cocked a hip, a sharp glare landing on the Frenchman. It was true- he wasn’t short, it seemed his friends were all just freakishly tall.

                “ _Mon Dieu,_ Alexander! Live a little!” Lafayette retorted, straightening up. This elicited an eye roll from Alexander, who began stepping backwards towards the exit of the canvas tent- he’d been strung out all day, he hadn’t even pulled off any of his tight, restrictive clothes- instead remaining stoic and tainting them with. He paused as he heard a rustle and his friends went silent, and after another few seconds of silence he huffed and about-faced, a move which he instantly regretted, as General Washington was right behind him, pitifully attempting to conceal a grin. He quickly brought himself to the position of attention, not stepping back- staying chest to chest with the man.

                … or face to chest. Alexander stood 5’6” to Washington’s 6’4”, and the wordsmith quickly realized his friends were right (although he wouldn’t admit it.)

                “As you were.” The General said to the red-faced Hamilton who's stance hardly changed, and his friends were all suddenly laughing again, standing by his side. “What’s got him all fired up?” Washington asked, a long finger pointing to Alexander, his tone casual, comfortable around the other men. It was unlike the General, but the others let it be- they were too busy pushing Alexander's buttons to worry about Washington's behavior.

                “The frog over here insulted his minuscule stature.” Hercules quipped, a tipsy smirk crossing his lips. The smirk intensified as he was swatted by the Marquis who was less than pleased with the nick-name. A deep, chesty laugh fell from Washington’s throat, and he crossed the tent, moving to sit in a chair that sat in one corner, across from a cot. Hamilton bit the inside of his lip and huffed once more as he felt Lafayette’s arm fall across his shoulders.

                " _Je peux plaisanter, mais_ – ah _je suis desoleé_ , I may joke, but I know you are not short where it counts.” the Frenchman offered with a devilish grin, Hamilton shrinking under his arm. Hercules crossed back to where he was sitting, a grin sliding across his lips.

                “You’re all out of line. None of this is your business.” Alexander said, slipping out of Lafayette’s grip and crossing to do the same as Mulligan, sitting back down in front of his empty glass. He wouldn’t storm off like a teenage girl- not in front of the General, anyway.

                “What, is he wrong?” asked Washington, gaining immense pleasure from seeing Hamilton embarrassed and annoyed- he sure dished a lot for someone who couldn’t take it, and seeing karma unfold was absolutely satisfying.

                “I am a man of modesty-“Alexander started before being cut off by Laurens.

                “Why ask? You’d know, General.” He quipped, sitting once more with a quiet grunt.

                “Excuse m-“

                “Oh please, you know your tent is made of canvas and not concrete, right? We hear _everything._ ”

                Laughter filled the tent, but somehow the almost-embarrassed silence between Washington and Hamilton was louder. After a few moments though, the general spoke up, taking the (absolutely true) accusation in stride. 

                “It’s not as if his size matters.” he fired back. “He’s not the one in charge.”

                Finally Hamilton spoke up above the laughter surrounding him. “With all due respect, _Sir,_ that’s not quite how things played out on Friday.” His eloquent voice had a hint of a smile under it, he was finally playing along. It wasn’t just his business out on the table anymore.

                “Embellishment of the truth is still a lie, Alex.” Offered Hercules, and before Washington or Hamilton could get a word in edgewise, Lafayette was speaking up.

                “ _S’il vous plait,_ Alexander- you couldn’t be in charge of Washington if you _owned_ him.” He challenged.

                “You, on the other hand, Lafayette…” Washington insinuated, his voice trailing off. It felt good to let his guard down, to be among his friends, his right-hand man, shamelessly gossiping and letting off steam. He noted the large supply of beer in the corner. They couldn’t manage to secure new boots for the militia, but somehow they’d charmed drink out of someone. He’d discuss their priorities with them later, but he crossed the room then, getting himself a drink.

                “What can I say?” The Marquis asked with a shameless shrug. “I _melt_ for a man who is good with his mouth, and I don’t mean your _words,_ Alexander.”

                Hamilton’s face flashed hot and he shook his head, physically biting hit lip to stop a retort, lest he dig himself deeper into a hole. A few moments of silence and eye contact all around, as if no one knew how to process this information and they were waiting for someone to say _something-_ passed before everyone in the tent collapsed into laughter, Alexander falling flat on his back laughing, the others shifting around rowdily as Washington unbuttoned his coat and joined their circle on the ground, launching into some completely unrelated story, eyes alight with laughter.

                It’d been a long night, and with the enlisted help of his friends, one Alexander Hamilton was finally winding down.


End file.
